


one step forward

by iheartsenpai



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen being Aizen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ichigo didn't ask for any of this, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, especially being a parent to two little brats, i died writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iheartsenpai/pseuds/iheartsenpai
Summary: Sometimes the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Other times, you kick hell's butt, unwittingly start a revolution, and adopt two kids in the process and not necessarily in that order.





	one step forward

**Author's Note:**

> I started this after I reread Bleach when it ended and thought to myself: how does Rukongai govern itself? And with my love of rarepairs and brainstorming, everything went downhill.
> 
> And after I left the first chapter on my drive for close to two years, my beta bullied me enough to post this, that meanie. 
> 
> Jokes aside, I want to thank my wonderful friend and beta, [Takkichi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondmyreach/profile), for dealing with me while I wrote, whined, and more or less strong-armed her into helping me, [Kat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/profile) for her invaluable help on PTSD research and letting me bother her, and Yurama for providing a fresh look on this after everyone edited this to death. I'm so sorry it took so long to post this, guys.

The building they’re currently resting in is one of the rare few that still had basic supplies. It used to be a suburban house, probably less than two stories high, and while everything inside either rotted away or broke, there were enough salvageable components to set up proper barricades for the openings on the top floor. Their temporary hideout became a natural barrier against their enemies, in part because of how dense the reishi in the area is and partially due to the fact that the building is partially buried in the tunnels underneath it. They even have the rare opportunity to regain their bearings and finally proceed with the last stages of their plan.

Kisuke was brought out of his musings when a distinctively loud voice began cursing about paper cuts and assholes in charge of inventory.

The building wouldn’t matter, anyway. Even if they do manage to succeed, the aftershocks of such blatant use of power will immediately attract unwanted attention to their location and swarm the place within minutes.

Kisuke sighs as his thoughts take another morbid turn, before leaning against the walls of the dimly lit room. His sole audience is still packing what little supplies they could spare into the small bag on the floor; neither of them spoke a word to each other since Kisuke entered the room. They already said their pieces earlier that morning, but the undercurrent of doubt made it hard to ignore the risks they were all taking. The somber atmosphere and being surrounded by, what is sure to be the last living beings on this plane, tend to dampen any enthusiasm. Briefly, he wonders what Isshin would have said in this situation before he remembers: Isshin would have been as useful as a rock is for a drowning man.

In fact, it would be more akin to dousing someone in oil and then set them on fire with a lighter.

...Now the image of Isshin giving a pep talk is stuck in his mind. Kisuke shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts away from the unwanted direction it took. Ichigo continues to ignore him, back turned away as if doing so would prevent his once-mentor from  talking to him. 

He didn’t acquire all the knowledge he has by simply accepting limits.                                                                     

“You  _ are _ aware the survival rate is approximately less than .05%?” he reminds him bluntly. 

Ichigo doesn’t bother to stop, nor acknowledge that he spoke at all. Kisuke struggles to hold back another sigh before continuing. 

“Simply put, it’s more than likely your body will get torn from the inertia during the process and your particles will be scattered so far in time and space, it will be impossible, even for Sousuke and I, to put you back together. I’m not even sure Orihime can wish you back whole since we won’t even have any of your body left.”

A grunt is the only reply; at this point, Kisuke considers it a win since Ichigo is the most stubborn person he ever has the pleasure of knowing in his long, long life and this harebrained scheme is the most adamant he’s ever seen Ichigo be after everything fell apart. Ichigo is smart but tends to ignore logic whenever the odds are up against him...which is all the time, if Kisuke wants to be honest with himself. It doesn’t stop him from doubling his efforts to make Ichigo see reason though. 

“She’s going to cry when you leave.” 

Kisuke might as well said the sun was yellow, the sky was blue since everyone is aware Orihime cries more as of late. She tries to hide it, so the rest of them pretend they don’t hear her sobs when she thinks she’s alone.

“And when Hiyori comes back and find outs about the plan, she’ll hunt you down and drag you back.” 

It has been weeks since his former lieutenant urged him to leave her, to serve as a distraction to allow them a chance of escape.

“Plus, Renji would complain you’re off being a hero again.” 

If he was here, anyway. Renji was one of their strongest fighters before Yhwach launched a surprise attack on the scouting party he led two years ago.

There is no acknowledgement at anything he mentions at all. The only thing Kisuke can hear is the steady beat of his own heart and the occasional rustling of items moving in the background.

Still…there is one last shot before he resorts to physically shaking Ichigo back to his senses. 

“Can you imagine what Rukia would say? She would scold you for acting so recklessly and without a thought for your own well-being. She’d kick you in the face for being so stubborn, too.”

At the mention of the younger Kuchiki, the noises stop. From the way the air stills and the sudden lack of breathing from Ichigo, Kisuke knows he has his attention.

It’s an ugly move, yet a necessary one. Rukia didn’t sacrifice herself to let Ichigo throw his life away, even if she knew the pain of bearing the burden of necessary sacrifices more than anyone _.  _ It didn't make the way Ichigo suddenly still easier to bear though.

“Ichigo.” 

There are no nicknames or teasing tone this time, no exasperation or hint of fondness anywhere. It’s with grim satisfaction when Ichigo finally stops moving and  _ looks _ at him, and even from this distance Kisuke can tell it’s the signature Kurosaki scowl and glare. Ignoring the heated glare directed at him, Kisuke lifts himself off from the wall with ease and walks towards him.

He desperately wishes he still had his fan to cover his concern, but years of literally living in each other’s pockets while on the run made it hard to hide secrets from each other. The Kisuke from five years ago would have scoffed at the notion of having another person who wasn’t Yoruichi and Tessai know him so well, much less a whole group. On the other hand, the Kisuke of five years ago never would have imagined being on the run from an immortal megalomaniac who utterly destroys everything and everyone he’s known and cherished, all without a shred of remorse.

It’s a testament on how much he’s concentrating on trying to convince Ichigo that his decision is so beyond stupid and past suicidal, that even the mere reference of Yhwach left his blood boiling.

He stops in front of his once protégé and knows by the rustling of clothing that Ichigo stands up. Kisuke can see nothing but Ichigo’s blurry form, no thanks to his damaged eyes, but right now he couldn’t care less. Before Ichigo could even form any kind of response, Kisuke begins to speak. 

“If we fail, you will die. You know there is no Soul Society for your soul to go back to nor a living world to be reborn into. You will be reduced to nothing and we won’t be able to help you. After everything we did to survive, after everything we endured, it will be all for nothing because you’ll be  _ dead _ .”

By the end of his impromptu speech, Kisuke is aware his hands are shaking and his voice is fraught with frustration and fury and  _ grief _ . 

Maybe talking to Ichigo was a bad idea, after all.

This time, the silence is deafening. Kisuke wills himself to stop talking, despite his raging emotions. He knows Ichigo is mulling over the possible replies he can give— the plus side of having other people know him like the backs of their hand meant that the same could be said about them. Regardless on how hot-headed Ichigo still is, his former student is surprisingly insightful when it matters.

So Kisuke keeps his mouth shut and waits, as he already knows the answer. He’s heard it from the others and from Ichigo so many times by now; he can practically recite it in his sleep. 

Tiredly, he sighs. “Care to clarify?”

“...What other chance do we have?”

He can hear Ichigo take a shaky breath, as if it was physically taxing to talk. 

“You already know what I mean.” Another breath, this time steadier. “What else do we have to lose? There’s nothing left out there other than the Quincy bastard and whatever he decides to throw at us. There’s nothing but rubble and corpses, and even if we managed to recover a body, they’re effectively dead. Urahara,” his voice breaks for a moment, yet the anger behind the words are there. “You, of all people, know this is the only option. There’s nothing left beyond us.”

And there was the crux of the matter.

There really was nothing left for them to protect outside of their ragtag group. Life as they knew it, before Yhwach destroyed the delicate boundaries of the three worlds, were all but a fleeting memory, leaving them to cling to each other in a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of normality.

The plan is their last ditch effort to fight back, even if it meant sending their best chance of winning into certain nonexistence and dooming the rest of their group to a fate worse than death in the process.

It still didn’t mean everyone accepted it with open arms.

_ Kisuke _ doesn’t like it, but he knows if push came to shove, he would help in anyway he can to guarantee a sliver of success. He knows the rest of the group shares the same sentiment, shares the same goal. They all realized this could possibly be their only chance left, and Ichigo’s look of sheer horror before it gave out to defeated acceptance when they all came to the same conclusion had cemented their decision.

Instantly, all the emotions he dredged up earlier leaked out of him, leaving him with a tired, exhausted shell of a body.

Kisuke is nothing but pragmatic. He knows when to concede defeat, especially if it’s staring right at him in the face.

This is defeat, in the form of Kurosaki Ichigo poking holes in his logic.

He can’t give up yet. He has to try. Try to defend his stance or provide Ichigo a way out if he wants to leave, he didn’t know. 

“If we do succeed, you can never come back here. You will be stuck there, with people who look like us, act like us, and by logic, are us. However, they will be vastly different to the us here with you now. The us you know will be gone, forever, if you survive. Just by arriving back in the past, you will change the timeline so drastically, this one won’t exist. We’re not even sure if you’ll arrive in your body or you’ll be your own entity with a doppelganger. We’re aware what happened here should be prevented at all costs, but…

“Ichigo, you will be alone.”

Kisuke knows more than sees the defeated posture Ichigo’s holding, partial-blindness be damned. He knows Ichigo is well aware of consequences for both ends of the spectrums; he also knows Ichigo would go with the plan anyway. Ichigo would and will throw away his own life if it means saving those he swore to protect.

He knows he surprises Ichigo when he takes the last few steps to capture the boy into a vise-like hug, but the tables are turned when he feels Ichigo respond by wrapping his own arms around him. The younger man bows his head on his right shoulder, gripping Kisuke’s coat like it was a lifeline.

Kisuke can’t remember the last time he hugged someone who wasn’t being sent to their death.

“I can manage being alone.” Kisuke let the lie slide.  “And I’ll stay alive.” 

Ichigo’s words were muffled against his shoulder, and Kisuke’s heart, as much as he claims is unfeeling, feels like it’s splintering apart. Isshin should be the one doing this, not him. Never him, the one who stays on the sidelines until it’s too late.

“I’ll stay alive,” Ichigo repeats again and again, his voice losing conviction as it grows more hoarse. “I’ll stay alive.”

Kisuke can only hold the man in his arms — no, boy, always a boy in his eyes, even when he  became his wayward student, then his reluctant friend, and now the physical manifestation of whatever hope he has left in this world —  as he continues to chant the mantra like it will save all of them.

Save  _ Ichigo _ .

If Kisuke’s eyes feel suspiciously watery, or if Ichigo begins to tremble when his voice trails off into a whisper, neither of them mention anything.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Ichigo!”

When Ichigo walks downstairs with Urahara, he isn’t expecting someone to happily call out to him. It still blindsides him, no matter how many times it happened before. There’s only one person in the group who can still muster up that much cheer and hope, despite the perpetual dark mood and atmosphere.

“Orihime.” 

Ichigo can’t help but let out a small smile in return when he sees her beam at him; even with all of the hardships they suffered and the people they had lost over the years, Orihime’s infectious smile and gentle personality were constants they all relied on to keep spirits up.

Another step down and Ichigo’s already sweeping over the rest of the group scattered in what used to the be the living room. Ishida and Riruka were lounging on whatever’s left of the furniture, while Tsukishima took to the walls to brood, probably. Only Aizen stood, his form unnaturally still. Orihime is the closest to him from where he came down. She’s seated on the only usable chair and Zangetsu is propped upright next to her. In the background, the candles they managed to scrounge up burns brightly in the dim room, and Ichigo wonders if any of the now-dead Sternritter have powers dealing with darkness and shadows.

Behind him, Urahara clears his throat.

Ah. He wasn’t aware he had stopped at the bottom of the stairwell. 

“Sorry.” He grimaces and promptly moved aside. 

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened.” Urahara rolls his eyes, but the humor is still evident from the amused smirk he carries as he walks steadily to the center of the room. It’s gone by the time he stands in the middle, suddenly a singular focal point and drawing the attention of everyone in the room. If Ichigo hadn’t had the pep talk from him a few minutes back, he would have thought the old man is fully confident with the plan. 

He could feel the apprehension rolling out from everyone in waves, however. As if agreeing, a bubbling sense of unease slowly settles in his gut and he discreetly readjusts the pack slung over his shoulders in an effort to ignore the apprehension spreading in the atmosphere. 

“Is everyone ready?” Urahara asks somberly. Everyone gives signals of confirmation before he allows himself to continue. “Then we are all fully aware there’s no turning back from this point forward. We all know our roles and what would happen if we fail.” 

Ichigo quickly looks to each person in the room. While each had a different expression, their eyes hold the same look, one after another. 

Determination.

Something warm and tight unfurls in his chest. It’s with sudden clarity that he realizes this is the first time he feels hope, of all things, something he thought was long gone when the one-sided war started in earnest. 

“Uryuu, Riruka, you’re on lookout.” 

Ishida nods from his perch on the broken coffee table, eyebrows furrowing and lips thinning in resolution. Riruka is looking at the stray pieces of hair twirled around her finger in an effort to look disinterested, though the way her fingers keep twitching belies how nervous she is. 

Their first line of defense and the first who will fall. 

“Uryuu will provide the suppressive fire, and Riruka can provide captures with Dollhouse. If your abilities are somehow incapacitated, draw the enemy to the explosive charges.” More nods of confirmation. “We don’t have the same numbers anymore, so if they managed to get past you guys—”  _ kill you two in cold blood _ went unsaid, “—before Ichigo’s sent back, Sousuke and I will provide the distraction.” 

Standing near Urahara’s left side, Aizen smiles serenely, his remaining eye crinkling in amusement. Ichigo wonders with morbid curiosity what they have up their sleeves if it got Aizen to actually  _ look _ happy. 

Unperturbed, Urahara continues. “Tsukishima will stay with Orihime once his task is done. He’ll stand guard unless things change.” 

Tsukishima tilts his head in acknowledgment, hair falling over the right side his face like a curtain. His sword is next to him, against the same wall its owner is resting on. 

“If all else fails, the charges I placed will self-destruct at the moment of my death. You know where the locations are since you all helped place them in the area. If  _ that  _ fails, then Sousuke will use any means necessary to wipe everyone out, allies included. You all know the goal and what we need to do in order to achieve it.” 

Urahara’s face darkens, his familiar grin turning self-deprecating. It went unsaid on what roles Orihime and himself would play. 

“Is that understood?” 

This time, everyone nods in agreement. Ichigo can feel his unease growing, and he could only try to ignore it by looking at the other people. Memorize their faces. 

“Good,” Urahara confirms. “We’ll start in twenty minutes, so do whatever you need to do. You’ll know the signal when the barriers are up.”  

As soon as the words left his mouth, the rest of their motley group brake off from the spots they claimed. Urahara went straight to Aizen, likely to discuss the distraction they managed to somehow develop with no proper materials or equipment. Riruka immediately heads straight to Orihime, grabbing her into a hug and saying something in rapid succession before her eyes water and tears start flowing. Tsukishima is there in an instant, hovering over the two with an uncertain look crossing his face, one that contrasted with his earlier show of indifference. Out of all of them, Orihime manages to get along with the last two Fullbringers the best without being manhandled or insulted. 

Ishida, on the other hand, goes towards Ichigo with a more sedated pace before he stopping a few centimeters away. Ichigo takes the time to check over his friend, knowing that the other is doing the same to him as well. The bags under the other man’s eyes look darker and more pronounced now, and his hair couldn’t hide the slight hollowness of his cheeks. Up close, Ichigo can see hints of silver hiding in the other’s hair. 

Of course it took the end of the world for Ishida to develop gray hair. 

Ishida’s pinched expression says a different story altogether. He looks like he wants to say something from the way he keeps clenching his hands at his sides. However, Ichigo knows better. Words aren’t needed when they’ve fought side-by-side for so long, and have been friends for even longer. 

Instead, Ichigo clasps his shoulder, watching with a grudging fondness at the flicker of surprise on his friend’s face. It disappears quickly underneath Ishida’s frown.

“Take care of yourself,” Ishida says, gruffly. 

_ Don’t die  _ isn’t mentioned, but heard clearly enough between the two of them. Ichigo wonders what Chad would have said if he could see them now.   

“Be careful,” he replies in kind. Ishida clasps his own hand over Ichigo’s shoulder in a rare show of solidarity, before moving away to head upstairs. 

He would have made it too, if a red blur didn’t suddenly tackle the other man onto the floor. The undignified yelp didn’t help matters. Ichigo snorts, settling in to watch the scene unfold before him. 

“You idiot!” Riruka scolds while she sits on Ishida’s chest with crossed arms, scowling despite her puffy eyes and red cheeks. “You need to wait for me before we take our positions! Don’t you understand what teamwork means?!” 

“Mrgh,” is the only response Ishida can muster with his face mashed on the floor. 

“And you!” Riruka points her finger at Ichigo, ignoring Ishida’s feeble attempts of pushing her off. “You better not do anything stupid before you get back!” 

Ichigo isn’t sure if he should be amused or dread the prospect of facing Riruka’s wrath. Discreetly, he adjusts the pack to be a little more in front of him. 

“I’ll try?” 

She narrows her eyes. “Riiight. At least sound more—” 

“Can you get off me, woman?!” There’s a surprised yell from Riruka when she suddenly finds herself unceremoniously shoved off an irate Ishida, though Ichigo suspects his friend’s earlier attempts were halfhearted at best. Ishida continues to brush off the dirt as he stands up, scowling at the source of his irritation. Riruka mimics her partner’s expression from her spot on the floor. 

“We need to get ready and check the perimeter, unless you have better things to do?” 

“Are you going to wait for me this time?” Riruka snappily replies, her conversation with Ichigo temporarily forgotten. 

She holds her hand out to the man in front of her, glaring fiercely. Ishida rolls his eyes and mutters something about redheads and being cursed as he pulls the offered hand to help his partner stand up. 

“Are you ready then?” Ishida asks sourly, only for Riruka to stick her tongue back at Ishida in response. In turn, Ishida pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, before looking back to Ichigo. “In fairness, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Kurosaki.” 

“Same to you.” 

There were a lot of things they would do without enabling each other, anyway. 

Riruka nods in agreement, ignoring the pointed look Ishida gives her. 

“We’ll kick your ass if you do, even if we’re ghosts— ow, stop tugging my hair! I’m going already!” 

“I wouldn’t have to resort to this if you would act mature for once.” The other man is already on the first step of the stairs, holding one of Riruka’s pigtails in his hand. He gives an experimental tug.

“ARGH!” Riruka bristles, reminding Ichigo of Tatsuki for a moment. 

_ If only cameras were still available _ , Ichigo muses and ignores the pang of longing he feels for the old world. 

The Fullbringer tugs her hair back ferociously, glowering when Ishida snorts in amusement before walking up the stairs. She soon follows after him, stomps and all. 

“You’re such a stick in the mud!  _ Someone  _ needs to make sure you’re still human!” 

“They get along so well,” Orihime says as she goes to Ichigo, eyes warm with affection as they watch the duo bicker and disappear from their view. The footsteps were the only thing they could hear after a few minutes, though the occasional yell would echo from the upper floor. 

“Who would have known Uryuu can still act like that?” 

“What, a child?” Ichigo asks dryly. “You do remember when we first met him, right?” 

“He’s much better now compared to the beginning of high school, Ichigo.” This time Orihime didn’t hide the exasperation in her voice or the fond smile that bloomed on her lips when she looked at him. “You two used to argue so much back then. For awhile I was convinced we would find both of you in the hospital or  _ worse _ , bleeding out in a back alley.” 

“The day Ishida beats me is the day I’ll admit to stealing his melon bread during lunch time.” Ichigo deadpans, and Orihime laughs at the mention. 

It was the worst kept secret in their group back then, with Ichigo’s fondness for the pastry and Ishida’s distinct lack of interest in them, despite buying one once a week at school. Somehow, Ishida remained oblivious to the thefts throughout the school year. Ichigo always wondered if Orihime secretly put Ishida up to it, while Chad acted as the unwilling buffer between them. 

Not for the first time, Ichigo wonders what it would have been like to have a normal life. To graduate high school with his friends, go to college, marry someone, start a family. 

Die old. 

He discreetly looks at the woman beside him, the one who still looks radiant even in this dark room with her hair cut haphazardly short and hints of scarring around her neck. _Would I have loved her the way she deserved_ _if things didn’t turn out the way it did?_ he asks himself.

“Orihime, I—” Ichigo begins, only to be quickly cut off.

“Ichigo.” She gives another smile, not as bright as the one she gave earlier, but still just as kind and warm. Ichigo can see she knows what he’s thinking. What they are both thinking. 

“When you go back, promise me you will keep yourself safe?” 

“...Yeah.” Ichigo responds, halfheartedly. Truthfully, he isn’t sure if he can keep any promises now.

“And,” her smile falters, and her eyes shine brightly against the candle light. “Promise me, you’ll let yourself be happy.” 

He didn’t have a chance to respond in kind. A quiet snort comes from behind her, and Ichigo glares over Orihime’s shoulder. Tsukishima is looking straight at him with a smirk, despite the jagged scar that ran straight down from his temple to the bottom of his chin. 

“If we’re talking about priorities, make sure to get a haircut. You look like a squatter, Kurosaki.” 

“Shuu-kun!” Orihime’s reprimand went ignored by the both of them. 

“Yeah, like you don’t look like one yourself. Yours looks like something nested in it and suffocated in your ringlets,” Ichigo snipes, though the insult held no heat behind it. He’s a little bit irritated,  and some habits never die, even in the face of impending death and doom. Like his sarcasm, for instance. 

Next to him, Orihime lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Better a rat’s nest than a mullet,” Tsukishima retorts as he settles behind Orihime’s left side, looking so similar to a giant dog guarding its owner. 

“We talked about this, and it’s only a mullet when the sides are short and the back is long,” Ichigo grouches back, though he does agree he needs a haircut. It’s past his shoulders, and he lost the only hairband he had a few weeks ago. At least it isn’t waist-length. 

“It still looks like a—” 

“Please do remember what I told you, Ichigo.” A deep voice interrupts before the other Fullbringer could finish his reply. Tsukishima scowls at the newcomer, shifting his sword loud enough for all of them to hear. Aizen, being Aizen, ignores it all.

“Of course,” Ichigo replies, briefly thinking to the conversation days earlier as the man’s familiar presence slid next to him. Orihime noticeably takes a step back as Tsukishima discreetly places himself in front of her, thumbing the hilt of his sword. Ichigo honestly doesn’t blame them for their reactions but it’s futile now. He turns his head to look at the man next to him for confirmation— 

And holds back a grimace. 

Aizen’s smile, when it wasn’t fueled with the intent to rule the world, is something he never got used to, but they fought together long enough that the sight of the man’s arrogant smirk didn’t unnerve him either. It still rankles the others, though. Urahara isn’t in the room to babysit him, which means he’s setting up the defensive barriers and seals around their hideout outside. 

“Anything else?” Ichigo continues, blithely. Aizen doesn’t even bother to tone down his expression and Ichigo can only eye him suspiciously as the other man nods. 

“Don’t forget this.” 

And somehow, Aizen manages to produce a bundle of black cloth from his hands out of nowhere. The bastard looks even more smug when Ichigo hesitates to receive the…present, like he knows what Ichigo is thinking. Despite their wariness of the man and his gift, both Tsukishima and Orihime peer at the cloth curiously, the latter letting out an appreciative noise at the fabric. 

At this point, Ichigo wouldn’t be surprised if his once-enemy manages to reconstruct the Hogyoku with nothing but glue and paper.

“Where the hell did you get this?” No point in not asking. Ichigo would rather know before he ceases out of existence.

The former Captain gave an elegant shrug. 

“Oh, last outing.”

...That explains nothing. ‘Last outing’ could mean the last time Aizen took a stroll out by himself, the last food run, the last patrol, whatever. Knowing him, Aizen purposely gave a vague answer. Ichigo couldn’t help the twinge of apprehension at the thought of not knowing, especially in regards to his former enemy. Old habits do die hard.

“Right.” Resigned, Ichigo accepts the unexpected gift. He raises an eyebrow as soon as he feels the fabric in his hands, a little bit surprised as he inspects it. It’s smooth to the touch, velvety in texture, yet he can feel his senses become duller the longer he holds it. No, that isn’t correct. He can hear and feel fine, but when he tries to sense his powers—

“Is this blocking my reiatsu?” he asks, incredulously. 

Orihime makes a startled noise and even Tsukishima looks surprised at the realization. Aizen, however, looks as pleased as he can be that Ichigo had caught on quickly.

“It’s a cloak that blocks the user’s reiatsu when worn, yes. A wonderful invention.” A pause. “Even harder to retrieve. Be thankful I had contingency plans involving the Dangai Precipice.”

_ That leaves even more questions! _ Ichigo wants to yell back.

“Oh,” he says, instead. After a thought, he belatedly adds, “Thank you. For, uh. Helping.”

“Better odds if you live,” Aizen calmly replies, though his eyes hold a steely glint. Thinking about Yhwach getting skewered with a toothpick, hopefully. “Good luck, Kurosaki Ichigo.” 

With another benevolent smile, the man who was once the most feared monster in Soul Society bows before heading to the stairs. 

_ It’s ironic, _ Ichigo thinks,  _ that it took the world’s end for Aizen to find his equals. _

At the mere mention

Ichigo waits until he’s sure Aizen is out of earshot before he lets his head bow low and closes his eyes, clutching the cloak to him as if it were a lifeline. In an instant, Orihime is already next to him, her familiar presence enveloping him as Tsukishima stands behind her, thankfully silent. 

He knows everyone is trying to be lighthearted to keep their spirits up. They never operated on long goodbyes, considering who is left. Even Aizen, to an extent, tried to make the transition easier. But the conversations he had with them were the last ones he’ll ever have and the last time he’ll see them as a whole. The strange warmth of the atmosphere and the growing anxiety he feels made it a roller coaster of emotions that he doesn’t want to process or acknowledge. 

He wonders what the others would say if they were still alive. He wonders what they would have done if they were here. 

_ I’ll stay alive. _

He breaths in the stale air of the room. Takes another one. The pack he’s wearing digs uncomfortably into his stomach as he presses the cloak closer to him. He can hear someone’s footsteps circling the floor above them, circling around him. 

From the second floor something close to a clang  echoes, like a lock finally closing in. He feels something surround the building, similar to a light blanket covering them, and it pulses minutely as it settles down.  

_ I’ll stay alive. _

So Urahara  _ is  _ outside for final preparations. 

_ Another minute _ , Ichigo wishes in vain as he forces his breathing to slow down. He counts to ten before his neck starts to protest the awkward position he’s in and he reluctantly straightens. He takes another shaky inhale as he squeezes the fabric between his fingers. He breathes out, feeling his body relax. He needs to put the cloak in the bag before he forgets. 

“Are you ready?” Tsukishima murmurs and Ichigo grunts an affirmative. 

He doesn’t want to look at them, not yet, not when he’s trying to reel in his stray thoughts and emotions. He takes another moment to reclaim himself, to push down the feelings of  _ wrong _ and  _ unease _ which feel overwhelming at times. 

_ I’ll stay alive. _

He turns back to face the last two people he will see. 

“Ichigo,” Orihime gently calls out, holding her hands out in front of her. 

Laying across her palms is the shorter blade of Zangetsu. Next to her, Tsukishima is holding its longer twin awkwardly, looking unsure of the propriety of wielding someone else’s zanpaktou.  

They probably grabbed Zangetsu while he was occupied. Absentmindedly, he stuffs the cloak in the pack, making it bulge awkwardly. Both wait patiently as he takes hesitant steps towards them, hands hovering over the hilts, and both look faintly relieved when he finally closes his grasp over his swords. 

Relief washes over him as he grasps the pieces of Zangetsu, relishing the familiar weights in  his hands. Even if there’s no rough voice to chide him or an indifferent baritone to give him invaluable support, just having his sword eases the apprehension crawling all over him. 

He’s alone, now. 

_ I’ll stay alive. _

Zangetsu maintains its silence as he places the blades back in their rightful place, the cloth wraps around the swords, automatically fastening themselves to his shoulder plates. Kisuke’s earlier words are both a comfort and a warning, no matter the old man’s intentions. But it doesn’t matter what his own feelings are; once he takes the next step, there’s no stopping this from happening. 

He walks to the center of the room and watches as Tsukishima disappears behind him. Orihime is already in front of him, her hands held up in a familiar position, Shun Shun Rikka being activated as the pins begin to glow. Orihime closes her eyes, her face deep in concentration. It’s with a pop of power that Ichigo sees the dome circle him, and from Orihime’s position, he sees her mouth something. He feels the Book of the End being released and hears the soft whispers of Tsukishima drawing back. 

_ I’ll stay alive _ , he thinks and braces himself.

 

* * *

 

“—go! Let me go, you bastards!” 

The girl is still conscious. 

Sousuke is impressed on how long she has lasted, given that most of the other subjects he used the procedure on lost motor functions within thirty seconds on average, and a full minute before they lost all streams of consciousness. The numbing agent he developed is based on the 4th Division’s anesthesia and chikon formula, rendering the patient immobile and unconscious after a set period of time, depending on dosage. Once awake, the patient will be afflicted with short-term memory loss and be susceptible to suggestions for a brief time. 

He should have expected that reiryoku would be a factor in resisting its effects.  

The child exceeded expectations magnificently though, going beyond the theorized maximum two minutes and is now approaching the five-minute mark. If he wasn’t on such a restrictive time frame tonight, Sousuke would have gladly seen what other limits the girl could surpass. If only the reiatsu disturbance a few hours earlier didn’t occur, he would have been able to task his team to collect the quota of reiryoku samples for the night, instead of doing it personally. On the bright side, his skills wouldn’t fall into disuse if such a situation ever came again. 

The girl yells again, struggling on the ground as two shinigami hold her down. Sousuke watches with detached amusement as she manages to wiggle one of her arms free and throws an unexpected right hook into Satorou’s eye, causing the man to yell out in pain and lose his grip on the girl. His other subordinate, Okuda, scrambles over to pin the flailing girl on the ground as his partner keels over. 

Pathetic. 

“How willful.” 

With a disappointed sigh, he signals with his free hand to his only subordinate, now solely handling the child. Satorou whimpers in the background. Absentmindedly, he wonders if blind loyalty meant certain incompetence, if his men were anything to go by. 

“If you can kindly restrain her, the procedure can go as planned.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” Okuda answers uneasily as he brings himself  to a kneeling position, holding the girl flat on her stomach. 

Sousuke knows not if the reaction came from the prospect of causing more pain for the girl or from facing his leader’s bland smile, but his subordinate makes no sound of protest while he forms the standard hand position for kido, nor does his voice waver while he recites the incantation. 

“Bakudo: Number One, Sai!” 

The girl yelps in pain when her legs lock together and arms twist backward, an invisible force binding them to her back, forcing her to lie on her right side. She tries to tug her limbs loose, jerking them in quick movements, without success. She has reiryoku, but she is untrained and still developing. She wouldn’t be able to break a successful binding kido at this stage. 

Sousuke nods to Satarou, who immediately turns the girl on her back once more, before returning to his side. Wordlessly, he passes the container holding his life’s work to Okuda, who shudders when Sousuke directs his smile at him. He looks down at the girl on the ground, her complexion turning bone white. 

“P-please, stop, I’ll do anything!” the girl pleads, tears forming in her eyes. “Please, just let me go.” 

_ If only you passed out when you should have, _ Sousuke thinks. He crouches down next to her, patting her cheek consolingly as another sob wrecks through her thin frame. Her eyes follow his hand fearfully as he raises it above her—

“This will only take a moment.” 

—and plunges his hand directly into her chest. A sharp scream pierces through the night, ringing loudly in the clearing. 

“No, stop! Make him stop! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!” the girl shrieks, becoming more shrill with each passing second. 

Sousuke calmly looks down, observing his handiwork: the skin isn’t truly penetrated, as the lack of blood shows, but rather opened enough to allow access for his hand to go through. The 4th Division kido spells were a surgical marvel and known to be rather difficult to use without the proper skills and years of training. 

Thankfully, he didn’t need such things. 

Her struggles become less violent as the minutes tick away. By the time she stops struggling, Sousuke feels a spongy mass forming in his hands as her reiryoku begins to wane. She whimpers feebly when he gives an experimental squeeze. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, petting her head in a parody of comfort. “It will be all over soon. You won’t remember a thing.” 

Okuda releases the kido spell that was binding her limbs at this point. The other man looks nauseous as he clutches the container to his chest, but he holds his ground. 

“...Hurts…” 

The girl can’t even lift her hand up. She gives another weak attempt, trying to grab the hand inside her chest before it goes limp at her side. Another whimper escapes from her, and she turns her head to the side in futility. 

Such a shame, really. Her potential for medicinal resistance aside, she would have been a splendid shinigami. The chances of surviving North Rukongai’s 64th District is marginally better than, say, the 70th, but the chances of a lone child surviving the trek to the Academy from the deeper districts are slim to none. Children were also more prone to trust authority figures and were far easier to manipulate.

What a pity. 

“Satarou-san.” Sousuke didn’t bother to look up at the other shinigami present. “Please do another perimeter, check on the surrounding areas. There is no need for unwanted guests.” 

“Right away, Lieutenant!” 

“Okuda-san, please inform the others to regroup,” he instructs as Satarou quickly disappears into the forest. 

Okuda murmurs something in agreement. 

“The extraction is going smoothly; at most it should only take a few more minutes. No doubt her reiryoku is trying to compensate for the amount taken.” 

In the center of her chest cavity, the light, pink ball begins to solidify in his palm. He looks up at the subordinate hovering over them and holds out his hand. Okuda carefully places the delicate container in his palm, and only releases his hold on it when Sousuke maintains the grip on the bottom.

Carefully, he brings down the container and cradles it to his chest. Sousuke looks back to the other shinigami, who dumbly stares back, with a raised eyebrow and a placid smile. 

“Have you already called the others back to the rendezvous point?” 

Okuda quickly scrambles back at the mention of his forgotten duties, before bowing profusely. 

“M-my apologies, I’ll do so right away—” 

The bushes rustle wildly, and Okuda immediately steps in front of him. His subordinate already has his sword drawn when a figure suddenly bursts out from the bushes, clothes in disarray and his expression in panic. It’s Satarou. 

“Sir, we lost contact with Saito! The anomaly reported earlier in the southern forest— Tabata’s saying it’s coming closer, we need to move!” 

_ He’s right, _ Sousuke thinks with a frown. He didn’t notice the strong reiatsu signature heading in this direction until his minion appeared. How could he have missed it, he isn’t sure. The signature feels too chaotic and heavy to be unnoticed, especially at his level. 

Like a Hollow. 

And it’s heading here at an astonishing rate.  

Okuda whips his head back to him, already gripping the hilt of his zanpaktou. 

“Lieutenant Aizen, you need to leave—!” 

He watches in mild alarm as both of his subordinates’ eyes roll into the back of their heads and froth appear in their mouths, collapsing in an undignified heap as the air becomes heavier. The child begins to choke in pain, and it takes all of his concentration to not buckle under the increasing pressure that seems to surround the area. 

The reiatsu being released...it’s stunning him. 

And just as suddenly as it appeared, the sheer force of power disappears. Sousuke lurches to the side, almost slipping in an effort to keep upright.

Underneath him, the girl gasps as air returns to her lungs. 

It’s eerily silent now. The usual crickets and cicadas that sing in the forest are quiet, and the wind stops rustling the leaves. 

Then Sousuke  _ moves _ . Within a second, he withdraws his hand from the girl’s chest, losing the reiryoku gathered, and uses shunpo to escape a few meters back. 

His instincts are proven right when he sees a large blade as dark as the evening sky gouge deeply into the ground where he was a moment ago. He presses the container he’s holding close to his chest, his free hand gripping Kyouka Suigetsu tightly. 

Not a Hollow, then. 

The thing — the man — who tried to maim him stands over the girl menacingly, blending in with the darkness, with the exception of the white pieces of armor and the glint of his sword reflecting the moonlight. The girl cries in pain and shock, eyes staring at the intruder, and for a brief moment, Sousuke wonders if the stranger is after her. 

He isn’t. Instead, Sousuke can only watch in alarm as the stranger looks at him, eyes narrowed and reiatsu crackling like lightning around his form. The man then glances at the child he’s standing over, lingering on the hole closing on her chest before he levers the long, black sword up and points it at Sousuke.

“ _ You _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Time to never update this ever again ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


End file.
